Doing Her Job
by EssaTheTwerp
Summary: Violet Cromwell, brand new agent for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, just wants to do her job... Unfortunate that her first assignment involves one Marge Dursley. Written for the FanFiction School of Imagination and Creativity.


"Well, Vi—seems you got lucky."

Violet Cromwell started as a slim folder was slapped on top of the desk—_her_ desk, she reminded herself pointedly. Getting used to a position of power, small as it may be, would be hard. She'd graduated from Hogwarts not even three years ago and was already starting at her first day as an agent for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad after much hard training and a long, grueling apprenticeship to one Alfonso Stuckey, now her boss and the man who had just handed Vi her first assignment.

She gingerly slid the folder closer to her, flipping open the front cover and cautiously peaking at the first page. She skimmed through the first couple of lines, gently tapping her freshly-painted red fingernails against the polished wood of _her_ desk. As she noted the name of the wizard responsible for the incident—an inflated, middle-aged female Muggle who'd had the unfortunate luck to float right out of the house and into the sky—her eyebrows jumped into her forehead, almost disappearing underneath the dark fringe of her bangs.

"_Harry Potter_? We're taking care of _Harry Potter's_ aunt?" she demanded incredulously, quickly beginning to leaf through the remaining papers in the folder. Stuckey smirked and quirked his head once, a sign she'd learnt the hard way meant a confirmative response. Shaking her head in disbelief, she inquired, "How did he manage to blow her up?"

"Well, you'll be finding that out, won't you?" he demanded. Violet blushed slightly and then nodded, setting the folder back down. She followed her boss as he turned and motioned her away, running through the facts she'd read from the file. She'd have to write a report on the incident when she returned, so understanding the situation before turning up at the Muggle's residence—the Dursley residence, she corrected—would be highly beneficial.

As Violet turned into a part of the building open to Apparation, she shoved her glasses further up her nose and closed her fingers briefly over her wand, silently pleading for this to go well. She wasn't usually clumsy, but with her luck, she was sure she'd ruin something _somehow_.

Stuckey turned to her immediately and barked, "Right—you know the address, then. The team has managed to get the victim, Marge Dursley, deflated and returned to her family. The Obliviator needs to work quickly to properly ensure her memory's fully infiltrated. It's your job to get in there and obtain an account of the story, however…" he paused, his lip curling distastefully, "_ridiculous_ it might be."

Violet bit her lip, a tad put off by the unpleasant way he'd spoken of Harry Potter's relatives. They couldn't be so bad, could they? Shaking off the odd feeling, she nodded and shook hands with Stuckey once, smiling when he wished her good luck (he was an old softie, deep down inside).

Turning on the spot, Violet thought of Number 4, Private Drive as hard as she could. The familiar yet horribly discerning sensation of being squeezed through a tube—lungs compressing and breath ragged against her dry throat—accompanying Apparation ended abruptly as she landed squarely on a soft patch of grass.

She would recognize the sounds of chaos emanating from the normal, quite boring looking house in front of her anywhere. Only a bout of accidental magic could raise that amount of panic in a Muggle household. Sighing, Violet straightened out her robes and strode towards the front door, not bothering to knock as she entered. _The poor Obliviator_, she mused when she noticed how the neighbors were all out on their porches or peaking through their windows, _he'll have to visit the whole street, won't he?_

Nevertheless, she closed the door behind her. Despite the fact that no one would remember what happened in a few hours' time, she felt the Dursley's had the right to some semblance of privacy in the meantime. Peaking into the living room, she grimaced at the sight of an incredibly large man, red in the face, screaming and raging at a stone-faced agent whose desk was quite close to hers. Part of her was actually a bit glad she wasn't at _that_ particular stage of the job yet. In the corner on a particularly floral, gaudy couch sat a thin woman, preening over a seemingly nonplussed teenager who was just as large as his father.

"Cromwell!"

She jumped as her name was called, and then turned, red-faced, to face one of her superiors, a man named Harold Buna. He motioned her into what she assumed was the kitchen and Violet hurried towards him, smoothing her robes again. "Yes, sir?" she asked a bit breathlessly.

"Alright," Buna drawled, motioning into the dark kitchen, "She's a bit hysterical. It's your job to make sure she wasn't physically scarred in any other way and double-check to make sure we recorded the accidental magic correctly. Understand?" he demanded. She nodded, pushing a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and collecting a few papers from them, scanning over the story quickly—she'd been talking to 'the boy' (as she had called Mr. Potter) when he'd lost his temper and 'cursed' her.

Violet glanced up from the papers and asked, "Potter is protected, then? With Black's escape…" she trailed off worriedly. She knew he would be protected—he was _Harry Potter_, after all—but that didn't stop her from being concerned, especially as she was taking care of his family now. Of course, they didn't seem all that supportive of magic, especially as she could hear the father, Vernon, screaming about how awful all wizards were in the living room.

Buna glanced around warily, and then leaned closer and whispered, "The Minister's seeing to him personally, actually." Violet's eyes widened as he nodded somberly and then turned away to speak to their resident Obliviator. Hushing away worry for a boy she'd never even met, Violet turned and stepped into the kitchen, setting her mind firmly back onto her job.

She approached the large, trembling woman, wrinkling her face as the stench of stale air hit her nostrils. "Ma'am?" she asked, gently slipping next to her. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror as she muttered under her breath—a string of curse words mixed in with the words 'the boy' and descriptions of numerous dogs.

"Ma'am?" she insisted, hesitantly taking a seat opposite the woman. "Ms. Dursley? I'm sorry, but I just need to ask you a few questions." Finally, the rotund woman looked up and met the woman's eyes harshly.

"And what do _you lot_ want now? Just… just _look_ what your freaky stuff's done to me!" she wailed, gesturing to herself. Violet jumped a bit, pushing away the ill-will forming. In a bit, she'd never have to see this woman again. Right now, she had to do her job.

Swallowing, she continued, "Ma'am, I'm just here to see if you were hurt in any other way, and to ensure that you remembered every detail of your story when you reported it earlier." At first, her words were met with silence, but she jumped black when Marge erupted in anger in the next second.

"YOU LOT ALREADY BLEEDING GOT ALL YOU WANTED FROM ME! What more do you want? Huh? What're you looking for? I told you all I know!" Violet jumped up, a fleeting sense of panic hitting her as she nodded quickly. This woman was _done_, that was for sure. The next wizard she'd be meeting was the Obliviator, Violet decided firmly. She motioned for the Wizard to head in, and leaned against the outside wall exhaustedly.

She hadn't even talked to her for a full minute, had she? Bemoaning her failure, Violet didn't expect the supporting hand that landed on her shoulder. Buna offered her a sympathetic smile and patted her comfortingly.

"The first day is always the toughest… plus, this family's a bunch of wankers," he muttered. Violet's eyes lit up as she laughed, immediately feeling better.

"Thanks," she smiled, waving him off so she could fill out the rest of the forms in her arms. She hoped, _dearly_ hoped, in fact, that Buna was right and she'd never run into a family like the Dursley's ever again.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I do not own or claim to own Harry Potter.

This was written for the FanFiction School of Imagination and Creativity over at HPFC, for Business Studies Assessment 1.


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